


Let The Water Take Me

by leafchron



Series: Water [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5919163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafchron/pseuds/leafchron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Screw the war, screw everything, Remus is not going let anyone or anything take the most important thing away from him anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Water Take Me

**Author's Note:**

> Tags not included so as not to spoil the story, please scroll to the end of the work if you want to see the tags.

Sirius is still sound asleep when he pads quietly into the bedroom and sets breakfast down on the dresser. He really shouldn’t be spoiling him with breakfast in bed on ordinary days, but Sirius is so gaunt and still so pale and sickly, and he looks so peaceful in slumber, he couldn’t bear to wake him up and drag him out to sit at the kitchen table.

He crawls back into bed, careful not to wake Sirius, and watches him, the slice of early sunlight falling neatly across his shoulders, onto his hair, turning his locks of hair brown and golden, his long eyelashes flush against his skin.

Sirius is so beautiful he is breathless.

He wishes he could cast an immobilising spell on this moment, on time itself, to freeze this perfect snapshot, a crystalised fragment time he would snap off from the rest of time, and store it in his pocket, to carry it around with him and to take out to admire whenever he wanted.

When Sirius’ eyes finally flutter open, dazed, he gives in to his urge to lean over to press a kiss on his forehead.  
“Morning, love.”

 

They spend the rest of the morning under the covers, as he feeds bites of toast to Sirius, pillowed contently on his chest, curled up into his side, only reluctantly dislodging him from time to time to refresh their tea. He brings fresh steaming cups to Sirius and watches him drink it all.

He picks out a book of muggles’ children fairy tales, and reads them aloud to Sirius, and there is a beauty, and there is a beast. Sirius listens to him read, enthralled and silent for a change, as he draws lazy circles with his thumb on Sirius’ bare hip where his shirt has ridden up.

When he finishes the book Sirius tilts his head up, under half-lidded eyes, and murmurs, “I love you, Moony.”

 

Sirius is napping again in the late afternoon. Sirius sleeps a lot these days, but he supposes Sirius needs the extra sleep. Long ago Sirius told him of days and nights in Azkaban where there was no distinction between day or night, and thus no limiting the nightmares and hallucinations, appearing at all hours of the day, and no sleep to be had, whether night or day. There were no dreams, no respite, only the nightmares, only the demons in his head that bled into reality, and the dementors from reality that bled into his memories until there was nothing else left.

He had tightened his arms around Sirius at that point to a degree that must have been painful for Sirius but Sirius didn’t notice at all, a faraway damaged look in his eyes, the demons nibbling on his mind. It had hurt, hurt him, hurt him like the dull edge of a knife blade.

He takes the chance to nip out to stock up on their groceries. Even now, Sirius’ name hasn’t been properly cleared, so he takes no chances. Sirius doesn’t venture out, and he does all the necessary stock-piling and errand-running out of the house, letting the villagers believe he is residing alone in the cottage, a quiet retreat for a city-dweller too choked up of the smokes and fumes of the city. Home is a small, quiet cottage in the quietest part of a quiet countryside village. There is nothing but woods around them, nobody comes around here, the nearest dwelling miles away from them, as is the small village centre. This lends itself exceedingly well to full-moon periods, where the howling of a wolf could hardly be explained away

He hates keeping Sirius locked up, having to ignore and stamp down on his protests and begging to be let out, harden his heart against the liquid puppy eyes, but he has no choice. It’s just not safe. Someone might see, recognise, and people talk.

He whispers into Sirius’ hair, holding him, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Someday, soon, when it’s safe, I promise, we’ll go out then."

At least it’s better than Grimmauld Place. He had spirited Sirius away from that dreadful place as fast as he could. No need to add to the demons already overcrowding Sirius’ mind. The countryside is nice, plenty of fresh air, peace and serenity. Nobody disturbs them, and the war is but a distant faint echo. Sirius had put up the token protest initially, but he’d taken to the place quickly once they were there. The way he sees it, Sirius is largely content to be where they are for now, and spends most of his days reading, or watching the muggle TV he’d managed to rig up.

Here, Sirius can heal, recover his mind. Here, at least nobody will see them, and they’re free to some extent. Nothing breathing down their necks, nothing hanging heavy over their heads or weighing their shoulders down. For now, the horrors of the past have retreated, even if just for a little while, into the shadows. Screw Voldemort, screw Peter, screw Snape, screw the war, screw the Order, screw even Dumbledore, for a while. He’s lost too much already. He came so close to losing Sirius again. He’s not going to let them, any of them, or the larger events that always seemed to suck them in, that consumed them, robbed them of their lives, take the most important thing away from him again, if he could help it.

He even finds himself humming a little as he peruses the fresh produce on sale in the marketplace. Idly he thinks he’ll just pick up some fresh apples as a treat; Sirius does so love biting down on the crunchy, juicy reds.

 

When he returns Sirius is still asleep. He shakes his head fondly and starts preparing dinner. There will be chicken, which will make Sirius happy. Anything to see the grin spread across his face, the undulated, barefaced delight in his eyes. Sirius always wore all of his emotions on his face.

He will do anything to make Sirius happy, as long as he has the power to, really.

He wakes Sirius up when dinner is ready and they have dinner together, gnawing contentedly on chicken and potatoes. Watching Sirius scarf down the food and steadily building his own pile of chicken bones, he thinks of Harry telling him how Sirius was living off rats, was ravenous for any real food, after his initial escape, and he doesn’t like these thoughts. He turns instead to Sirius with a sly smile, and asks, “Do you remember the prank in the fourth year, with the transfigured chickens?”

Sirius looks at him, frozen in mid-chew, lost. Then he shakes his head slowly, frown lines creasing his brows, eyes clouded.

He feels as though his heart has gone for a dip in the lake in mid-winter. He closes a hand over Sirius’ hand, and says as calmly as he could muster, “It’s okay, Padfoot, it doesn’t matter. You’ll get your memories back, in time. Or if not, we’ll make new memories. New, happy memories to replace the ones the dementors took. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

 

At night they kiss slowly in the narrow bed, fingers entwined in hair, thumb stroking cheek, thighs slotted perfectly together, hips bumping gently against each other, until Sirius drifts off to sleep in his arms.

He feels his heart would implode, in that moment.

And if it does, it would be all fine, for he had that moment to keep, to hold, always. And that was everything.

 

***

 

When the Ministry of Magic officers swooped down upon the quiet village all the villagers were shocked.

“In our little old place!” they gasped. “A scandal of this size, goodness! We’ve never had such a fuss! Barely any crime, all peace and quiet here! Nothing ever happens here!”

They whispered amongst themselves, “I met that man who was renting the cottage when he came in to buy milk. He seemed like such a nice man! So polite and well-mannered. He asks after my grandson every time he comes in. Never gave any trouble. Never any hint he would be capable of anything like this!”

The Ministry officers had their own whispers among themselves, of a different variety. “He placed the poor lad on a permanent Imperius Curse! Addled his mind and erased his memories. Kept him on a diet of love potions. That poor lad can’t even remember his name, answers only to ‘Padfoot’, whatever that means. Incoherent and keeps babbling about the moon or something.”

“They say he’s half out of his mind himself. Didn’t resist arrest, just kept smiling at everyone, as though he didn’t hear a single word or really saw them. Clark, who’d worked at the Ministry for twenty-five years, said it was just like when they arrested the famous convict, Sirius Black back then. Insane, laughing, nothing in his eyes, when they took him away. Sent chills down everyone’s spine.

When they took him away he just kept muttering, under his breath, grinning like a lunatic, _Wait for me, Padfoot. I’ll see you again very soon, I promise._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Other tags:  
> -Canonical Character Death  
> -Dark fic  
> -Dark!Remus  
> -Mental instability/altered mental states  
> -Delusions and hallucinations  
> -Kidnapping and imprisonment  
> -Heavy angst  
> -No happy ending


End file.
